


The Jabberwock

by blithelybonny



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:25:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithelybonny/pseuds/blithelybonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s out there, and it’s hungry. And the students have a choice to make</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jabberwock

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta and to the mods for their infinite patience with my dragging rear end.
> 
> Now with an illustration by the incomparable **anemonen** \- to whom I cannot express enough love and gratitude.  <3 <3 <3

Blaise leans casually against the cave wall, arms folded across his chest, as if he doesn’t care; as if he, unlike the rest of them, isn’t afraid. His voice is silky, unctuous, and it turns Draco’s stomach to hear it. There’s a reason they haven’t spoken about feeding the beast since Goldstein made the suggestion hours ago, but from the looks on everyone’s faces, it seems Blaise is the only one who really considered it as a possibility.

 

“Isn’t the answer obvious?” he says, gesturing languidly towards the small cavern opening. A deep, bellowing howl answers, as if the creature has somehow heard and understood; Blaise flicks a glance its way, then turns back, cool and collected. Nothing ruffles him, and Draco hates him suddenly.

 

“No, what’s the answer?” asks Granger, and Weasley tightens his grip around her waist.

 

Blaise jerks his head at Potter. Something in Draco’s gut twists painfully, then freezes because he, too, knows exactly what Blaise is suggesting. The worst part is that Blaise is right -- because it _is_ obvious, albeit in a completely demented way.

 

“No … no, Blaise, that isn’t _fair_!” Granger has cottoned on, as well. Of course she has.

 

“Isn’t that what he does?” He turns to Potter. “Isn’t that what you do, Potter? You make sacrifices?” Despite the inflection, it isn’t a question; Blaise _accuses_.

 

The creature screams, the horrible sound echoing through the cave, and everyone winces -- everyone except Blaise and Potter. They stare at one another, and Draco’s breath catches in his throat.

 

Then, evenly, Potter replies, “I suppose I do, Zabini.”

\--- -- -- ---

 

_Sixteen Days Earlier_  


Potter collapsed with a satisfied groan, covering Draco’s body like a too-warm blanket. It felt comfortable for the barest of moments, as they breathed together, coming down from the high of their exertion, before Draco bucked his hips and squirmed in an attempt to get Potter to move next to him. “Will you get off?” he asked, an annoyed whine in his tone. It didn’t matter that he’d just had a perfectly acceptable orgasm; Draco wasn’t a cuddler in general, and Potter’s body specifically wasn’t his type of pillow.

 

Letting out an inelegant snort of laughter, Potter rolled to the side and pillowed his head with his arms. “I thought I just had,” he replied, quirking his eyebrows suggestively.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Draco huffed as he rolled over onto his back, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth nonetheless, betraying his amusement. 

 

In the eight months or so since they’d started shagging, Draco had come to terms with the fact that post-war Potter was an endlessly merry creature. He often wondered if the weight of wizarding Britain had not been on Potter’s shoulders since birth, then perhaps this was who Potter would have been all along; although, he also imagined that they likely never would have ended up the way they had without their dramatic shared history. Their first awkward fumble between the sheets had been the result of a particularly nasty fight, but the fighting had slowly begun to diminish, and the sex had only gotten better and better each time.

 

“Don’t fight it,” Potter said, with a sigh. “You’ve got it for me something awful.”

 

“Hardly,” Draco easily rejoined, before sitting up and reaching for the coverlet to drape across his lap. “It’s just a matter of convenience. If I was forced to room with Longbottom, I’d be shagging him instead.”

 

“Neville _does_ know how to wield a sword,” Potter replied, snickering.

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “And I say again: you’re _ridiculous_.”

 

“Perhaps a bit.” Potter stretched languidly and wriggled on the bed, and his lack of modesty suddenly became a bit much for Draco.

 

“I’m going to have a bath,” he announced, carefully keeping his eyes away as he swung his legs off the bed and got up. Draco adjusted the coverlet like a towel around his waist and padded to his trunk to find some clothes to put on.

 

“Why do you always do that?”

 

“Do what?” he called back. He heard a thump, as Potter rolled off the bed, and quickly slipped on a pair of pants under the coverlet.

 

“Hide from me like that.” Potter walked up behind Draco and slid his hands around Draco’s waist, tugging Draco back against his firm chest. “You are aware that I have seen you naked before, considering all the shagging?” he teased, his breath ghosting pleasantly against Draco’s neck.

 

Draco let him stay like that for just a moment, savoring the contact, before he carefully removed himself from Potter’s grip. “I don’t particularly like to lounge around in my altogether. I’m not a heathen, thank you,” he replied, with a half-hearted sneer.

 

“But I want to see you …” Potter pouted.

 

“You can’t always get what you want,” Draco retorted, once again unable to entirely keep the smile from his lips. “Even if you are the Savior.”

 

Potter reached for him again, but Draco slid out of the way. He dropped the coverlet and reached for a pair of pajama bottoms. “You’re such a pain in the arse,” Potter added, with a laugh, and walked back over to his bed. “Oh, and speaking of things that I want … are you going to come along on the trip or not?”

 

Draco sighed, as he reached for a tee-shirt. “We’ll talk about that later.”

 

“No, actually we won’t, because you always manage to distract me with sex,” Potter accused, a smirk playing at his lips. “But don’t think I’m going to let it go. I really want you to come along with us. It’ll be fun.”

 

“I very much doubt that,” Draco replied. “I have absolutely zero interest in ferocious magical creatures.”

 

“It’s not really about the magical creature preserve,” said Potter, as he made himself comfortable on the bed again. “It’s about having a little adventure before we finish school and have to go out into the real world.”

 

“Haven’t you had enough adventure to last you until doomsday?” Draco muttered under his breath, as he searched out his toiletries.

 

“Zabini’s going and so is Daphne obviously, so you won’t be the only Slytherin, if that’s worrying you,” Potter continued.

 

“I’m quite certain that Blaise is only going so that he can continue his quest to fuck Susan before our term is over, and I’ll only get in the way of that.” Draco snickered to himself. “So again, I fail to see the point of me attending a trip for a class that I don’t take.”

 

“The point is, I want you to come. I think it’ll be fun, and I want to spend time with you,” Potter answered, sounding much more serious than he had before.

 

Draco turned to him then, and the wounded puppy-dog look on Potter’s face was almost too much to bear, no matter how little sense it made. He and Potter had always kept their activities to themselves, and when they were out amongst their year-mates, it was business as usual: petty insults, smirks and House-line rivalry. It was almost as if the war years had never happened. It was as if their Sixth and Seventh Years had been perfectly normal, and they still hated each other as schoolboy rivals. In keeping with tradition, Draco affixed a smirk to his lips, even though his heart was pounding fiercely in his chest with apprehension. “Oh, so you want to hold my hand and snog me up against a tree in the park?” he teased. “Whatever would your lackeys think?”

 

Potter laughed, and the oddly-serious tension dissipated quickly. “They’d think I’d finally gone round the twist for good.”

 

“Exactly,” Draco replied, and turned towards the door once more, “so again, and finally, I’m not joining you on your Care of Magical Creatures field trip.”

 

“I still think it would be fun. We could share a tent…” Potter replied, and Draco could practically hear his smirk in the suggestion from his tone. “Please?”

 

Draco bit down on his lower lip to quell his smile, as he walked out the door. “I’ll think about it,” he threw casually over his shoulder and left.

\--- -- -- ---

“No, Harry, you can’t. You have absolutely no responsibility to do this,” Granger asserts, removing herself from Weasley’s grip and going over to Potter. She grabs him by the shoulders, but his eyes remain locked on Blaise’s. “Harry! Are you listening to me? You do not have to have to do this!”

 

“Why shouldn’t he? Hell, maybe he’ll manage to survive. Isn’t that also what he does?” asks Blaise, glancing at Granger and chuckling lightly. “The Boy Who Lived and Lived and Kept On Living.” He looks back at Potter challengingly.

 

Weasley lunges for Blaise with a furious growl, but Longbottom and Abbott manage to catch and hold him back. Blaise just laughs, and Draco wants to go over there and punch the git himself, but he refrains. It wouldn’t do much good other than to be momentarily satisfying.

 

“I’d say we send Daphne out there since she’s the fattest, but it seems too cruelly ironic to toss a dumb beast to a dumb beast,” Blaise sneers.

 

“You fucking bastard!” Weasley roars and tries to wrench himself out of Longbottom’s grip, but Abbott steps in front of him again, pleadingly holding out a hand to stop him, as Blaise laughs. “We should fucking throw _you_ out there, Zabini!”

 

“Just be quiet, Blaise,” Draco then says, finding his voice and stepping between them as well. He glances over at Daphne who is huddled into herself, crying quietly. Susan sits down next to her and places a comforting arm around Daphne’s shoulders, but looks just as in need of comfort herself, as she glances up at Abbott and Longbottom in turn. They all manage to speak without words sometimes, and Draco wishes he had that luxury with his friends. He might have had it once with Pansy, but it’s gone now. Something clenches in Draco’s chest, and he swallows hard. “You’re not helping,” he then continues, turning back to Blaise.

 

“I’m apparently the only one willing to offer an actual solution to our collective problem,” Blaise replies snottily, finally pushing himself off the wall and striding forward. “Which is certainly more than I can say of you bloody cowards.”

 

“Blaise, please stop!” Draco stops him with a hand to his chest.

 

“Listen to the fucking git, _Blaise_ ,” Weasley calls nastily, earning a hissed ‘Ronald!’ from Granger. “Just keep your stupid opinions to yourself and you won’t get yourself _volunteered_ , do you get me?” Weasley then flings Longbottom’s hand off his shoulder and stalks off to a large rock in the corner of the cave. He sits down and faces away from them all.

 

Draco and Blaise look at each other, until Blaise sniffs haughtily and walks back to his wall.

 

The creature whines, loud and high-pitched, and a sudden rumbling kicks up dust, as three large stones roll away from the cave opening.

 

Granger whimpers softly, and Longbottom goes over when Weasley doesn’t move, to put an arm around her shoulders. “We’re running out of time,” he says uselessly.

 

Draco glances at Potter, whose eyes are fixed on the entrance. He opens his mouth to say something, when Potter turns and looks at him. And Draco _knows_.

\--- -- -- ---

 

_Eight Days Earlier_  


The sun blazed overhead, and Draco hurried along the path to shade himself by Hagrid’s massive shoulders. He was quite certain that his Sun-Repelling Charm had long since worn off, and he was rapidly pinkening by the minute. Potter had neglected to mention that he, along with everyone else on the trip, would have to surrender his wand at the Visitor’s Center due to some or another rot about potentially disturbing the creatures’ natural habitats. Draco hadn’t really been paying much attention during the boring lecture that their initial guide had given them, but as he trudged along, he reluctantly admitted to himself that he probably should have listened a little better.

 

“I shouldn’t have joined you on this insane walkabout, like I’d originally intended,” he grumbled, as Potter feinted back from his friends and fell into step with Draco. “I literally cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”

 

“I’d had no idea that my powers of persuasion were that good,” Potter replied, with a charming grin.

 

“It was the blow job that did it, and you know it.”

 

Potter laughed loudly, then ducked his head when Granger turned around to give him a quizzical look. “More likely the promise of one under the stars at the campsite, right?” he asked and then stuck his tongue out playfully.

 

Despite his sour mood, Draco had to smile a little at that. “I’m going to hold you to it,” he said, glancing around to see if anyone was paying attention and then elbowing Potter in the side. “Twice.”

 

“You can count on it,” Potter replied. He then picked up into a run again, just barely brushing his fingers against Draco’s before he rejoined Granger and Weasley up ahead. “Fuck off, Ferret!” he called back, but Draco knew it was less to save face before his friends and more Potter’s particular brand of endearment.

 

“You’re so fucking odd,” Draco said fondly to himself and picked up his own pace. 

 

He walked alone, but kept up with the group, content to be by himself. It had taken quite some time to be at peace with only himself for company, but Draco had learned that solitude wasn’t such a bad thing at all. Plus, if the alternative was to spend his time on this trip chumming around with Blaise and Daphne, Draco was more than happy to avoid that particular torture. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his friends -- it was just that they had obviously and blatantly grown apart over the last year. Draco wasn’t sure he’d even be able to keep up a conversation with Blaise anymore, and he and Daphne had never been particularly close.

 

Draco did have to admit, despite his displeasure at having been dragged out of the comforts of Hogwarts, that the preserve was rather lovely. A sprawling plain of wizarding space located in the low grasslands of Wales, the Berwyn Creature Preserve was home to various and sundry magical creatures from the thestral to the endangered Golden Snidget and everything in between.

 

Naturally, as the trip’s faculty advisor, Hagrid tended to favor the more dangerous and terrifying beasts, but no one besides Draco seemed to mind. Therefore, he kept his opinions to himself as he trudged along, trying to pretend that he wasn’t still deeply afraid of hippogriffs.

 

“A’right there, everybody, gather up,” called Hagrid, drawing Draco out of his thoughts once more. The small group of students surrounded Hagrid, and he leaned down a bit to address them better. “We’re comin’ up to the Frumious Bandersnatch’s habitat, so keep yer wits about yeh. Once we make it through, we’ll be settin’ up camp.”

 

“Frumious Bandersnatch?” asked Turpin, skepticism practically dripping from her tone. “From the Lewis Carroll poem?”

 

“The very same,” answered Hagrid. “Muggles don’t tend to know how much magic is right there under their noses, now do they, Lisa?”

 

“I suppose not,” said the Ravenclaw, glancing at the rest of the group. “I gather the Jabberwock is real too, then?”

 

“The Jabberwock is classified as restricted by the Ministry of Magic due to its food source,” Granger spoke up, sounding, as she always did, like she had regurgitated a textbook.

 

“Right you are, Hermione,” said Hagrid, beaming. “And what’s it’s food source, then?”

 

“People,” Susan answered, giving a little shiver. “The Jabberwock eats human beings.”

 

“Actually,” interrupted Goldstein, before Hagrid could reply, “that’s not entirely accurate. The Jabberwock can subsist quite easily on non-human meat, but once it has the taste of human flesh or blood, it becomes insatiable and unable to sustain a diet of anything else.”

 

“Bloody ruthless, they are,” added Weasley and tightened his grip around Granger’s shoulders. “Is there one here?”

 

“Three,” Hagrid answered, “excitin’, innit?”

 

Draco caught Potter’s gaze and raised a questioning eyebrow. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing exciting about it. Potter just chomped his teeth and grinned, and Draco rolled his eyes.

\--- -- -- ---

Granger looks torn, but finally decides to comfort Weasley instead of Potter, and the others fall back into their positions around the cave, afraid to say more and stir up another argument. But Potter wanders closer to the cave opening and seats himself on a large rock.

 

Draco glances at Blaise, who avoids his eye now, and Granger with her hand on Weasley’s knee, murmuring something no doubt meant to calm him down, then makes a choice. He walks over to join Potter and sits on his side. They say nothing, and then the creature howls, long and almost mourning. Draco shudders visibly, but Potter remains still, eyes fixed on the cave’s mouth.

 

The echo dies out slowly, a reminder of their circumstances, and Draco glances around the cave again. He briefly catches Goldstein’s eye and glares, but he’s uncertain he has the strength for menace. The Ravenclaw’s mouth is set in a grim line, but he looks determined, unphased even, as if he knows he’s right -- as if he _agrees_ with Blaise and wants to say so.

 

Draco has to admit that while it’s a terrifying prospect, it’s also highly logical, which is exactly why Goldstein must have proposed it in the first place. Ravenclaws are always logical … and Slytherins are always cunning.

 

“You’re not really considering it, are you?” asks Draco then. He winces; his voice is so small, so weak. He’s hungry, tired and afraid, but it’s no excuse to sound weak, especially not in front of Potter.

 

“Of course I’m considering it,” Potter replies, impossibly composed, “I think we’re all considering it.”

 

“Granger was right. It isn’t fair, and you do not have a responsibility to us.” Draco doesn’t know where it’s coming from; he only knows it’s the right thing to say. “Not anymore,” he continues, and with some deeply-buried Gryffindorish courage, lifts a hand to place it on Potter’s knee. It seems to be working for Granger and Weasley, anyway, and no one has to know what it really means. After all, they are each in need of comfort.

 

Potter lays a hand on Draco’s own and squeezes gently. It feels nice.

 

“Who else is there, though, Draco?” Potter turns his head, a wry smile on his face. “If not me, then who else?”

 

Draco’s courage deserts easily when he finds he does not have an answer.

\--- -- -- ---

 

_Four Days Earlier_  


The Jabberwock bent its lizard-like head down and wavered back and forth behind Hagrid’s head. Draco couldn’t look away from its jeweled-eyes. He could swear it was staring right at him, licking its chops and imagining just exactly how he would taste. It didn’t matter that the reserve guide had assured them all that the Jabberwocks in their care had never tasted of human flesh. Draco didn’t care -- they looked like they would swallow him whole the moment they got the chance.

 

“Scared?” Startled, Draco jumped and swung out a hand, but Potter caught it easily and chuckled low in his ear. “You’re supposed to say ‘You wish,’ remember?”

 

“Forgive me. I must have forgotten the script,” Draco answered, still keeping his gaze locked on the Jabberwock. “Potter, I bloody well swear that thing has me marked or something. It’s looking at me.”

 

“It does seem to be watching you,” Potter said and poked Draco in the sides before settling his hands on Draco’s hips.

 

It took Draco a moment to realize that Potter was holding him in public, but when he tried to squirm out of Potter’s grip, the latter only held on the tighter. “What are you doing, you idiot? Anyone can see!”

 

“No one’s looking at us. See for yourself,” Potter murmured in his ear. Draco did glance around and saw that Potter was right. The small group of students were all fixated entirely on the Jabberwock behind Hagrid’s head -- most likely, as Draco had been, too scared or fascinated to be paying any attention to Hagrid’s attempt at a coherent lecture.

 

Potter leaned in and pressed himself along the length of Draco’s body, fitting his groin neatly against Draco’s arse. “I think I might have to come and find you tonight,” he murmured against Draco’s neck. “Will there be room in your tent?”

 

Draco chewed his lip to hide his pleased smile, but the Jabberwock chose that moment to open its mouth. Rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth gleamed in the midday sun. It let go a roar, and Draco stiffened.

 

“Easy … easy, it’s okay, Draco,” said Potter quietly, bringing his hands around to encircle Draco’s waist. His thumbs soothed circles on his stomach, and Draco melted back against him once more. “See, it’s not going to hurt you.” He chuckled again, watching as the beast lowered its head to rest on Hagrid’s shoulder, to the half-giant’s obvious and utterly insane delight.

 

They stood for a moment, just watching as Hagrid gently stroked the Jabberwock’s scaled face, until Draco could no longer stand it. “I don’t like this,” Draco finally said and extricated himself from Potter’s grip. “I’d much rather be at Hogwarts in my own comfortable bed with much less of a chance that something could come along and eat me in my sleep.”

 

“Didn’t I promise I would make it worth your while?” Potter asked, coming to stand at Draco’s side.

 

“So far, I haven’t seen much evidence of your promise being fulfilled,” Draco pouted.

 

Potter grinned widely at him, as he started back to the other side of the group by his friends. “I always keep my promises, Malfoy … even for gits like you!”

 

“Yeah, you’re a real git, Malfoy!” Weasley added, and Draco just rolled his eyes, as Potter pretended to wring Weasley’s neck just out of view.

 

The Jabberwock answered instead, snuffling and snorting; it elicited a murmuring from the students, but Hagrid just laughed. “I think ‘e really likes us, you lot!” he said, letting the Jabberwock nuzzle his sausage-like fingers.

 

“Yeah, something like that,” Draco said to himself. The Jabberwock undulated its head toward him again, and Draco hastily stepped back. “And we’re moving on, yes?”

 

“Careful, Malfoy, Jabby there looks _hungry_ ,” teased Potter, with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “And you look good enough to eat.” Everyone laughed, but Weasley groaned and elbowed Potter in the side. Draco kept his eyes on the Jabberwock. He could have sworn it just nodded … like it understood.

\--- -- -- ---

The creature howls again, somehow close and far at the same time, and Draco grips Potter’s hand tightly, brazen with the fear. A bitter laugh escapes Potter’s lips, as he looks down at their joined hands. “So all it takes is the threat of imminent death,” Potter murmurs, “to let me touch you in front of other people.”

 

“It’s not funny!” Draco sharply replies, but he doesn’t let go. He can be defiant even as his stomach lurches uncomfortably and makes him wince at the fear and the hunger. He supposes that Potter’s right, actually. They keep everything behind closed doors where no one can see, except when the flames lick at their heels.

 

Potter falls silent again and begins to stroke Draco’s palm with his thumb, and Draco lets him. He hasn’t the strength to argue, and it feels so nice, he doesn’t see the harm … especially not if this is the last time.

 

Draco has never done so well with silence, though, and after several long moments where he swears he can hear the creature _breathing_ out there, the words in his head begin to bubble up and beg to come out. He can feel them, almost buzzing in his head and under his skin, like his whole body is filled up with words that he needs to say.

 

“Please don’t,” he settles on and ever so subtly shifts closer, so that his cheek rests gently against Potter’s thigh. “Please don’t do this.”

 

Potter makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. He disentangles his hand from Draco’s and rests it instead atop Draco’s head. His fingers sift through Draco’s hair, and Draco smiles, a brief moment of something that feels like normal, until the beast screams again and claws at the cave opening. The stones unsettle and several fall away.

 

Just like that, the moment is over, and Draco can hear the others whispering and murmuring again. He jerks away from Potter’s touch, gets up and walks to the other side of the cave.

\--- -- -- ---

 

_Forty-Eight Hours Earlier_  


Potter bobbed his head slowly, taking his time, and Draco stuffed a fist into his mouth to keep from crying out loud. With an obscene pop, Potter pulled back and grinned up at Draco. “Come on, Draco, let me hear you,” he urged, replacing his mouth with his hand and stroking hard. “Don’t be shy.”

 

“If you hear me, someone else might too,” Draco answered, in a strangled voice. He arched up into Potter’s hand with a soft whine, before biting down on his lower lip to quell it.

 

“But I love it when I can hear you,” Potter replied, increasing his pressure, but slowing down his speed. “To know it’s me that’s making you sound like that…making you lose control...”

 

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco spat. “You talk too much.”

 

Potter just laughed his careless laugh and bent his head again. Moments later, Draco stilled briefly, arched upward, and came with a wordless cry of pleasure. “Usually, you’re the one who refuses to shut his poncy gob,” continued Potter, as Draco panted and tried to come back from the high. “You’re normally so chatty in bed.”

 

“This isn’t exactly _bed_ , is it?” Draco asked, breathlessly, and when Potter leaned in for a kiss, he turned his face away. “This is the bloody wilderness, and I think I’m lying on a rock.”

 

“I’ve got something you can lie on,” Potter teased, as he crawled down over Draco and began pressing kisses along his jawline and neck.

 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Draco bit down on his lip again to stop the grin from spreading. Perhaps it was the fresh air, the lack of pressure for completing school assignments or just the fact that Potter had snuck out of the tent he’d been sharing with Weasley to steal some alone time with Draco, but he was feeling pretty generous towards Potter. “But I suppose,” he continued, and turned his face back to be kissed properly, “it couldn’t hurt to try.”

 

Some time later, when they laid together, sweat-slick and panting with exertion, Draco sighed in contentment. It was far too warm in the tent to cover up, and even though the sense of impropriety pricked gently at him, he ignored it in favor of basking in its delicious sinfulness.

 

“We should go for a walk,” Potter breathed. “It’s probably a whole lot cooler out there.”

 

“It’s too dark,” Draco complained, though more because the moment was ruined than because he didn’t want to go outside. “And if you recall, we don’t have our bloody wands, so we can’t even use a _Lumos_.”

 

“The moon and the stars will light our way.” Potter rose up on his elbows and let his head hang back, exposing the long, muscular column in his neck. Draco wanted to bite it. “It’ll be romantic.”

 

Groaning, Draco sat up and reached for his tee-shirt. “Don’t make me throw up.”

 

Potter turned his head and smirked. “Come on, just a short walk. I promise not to hold your hand or anything, if you don’t want.”

 

Reaching for his discarded pajama bottoms, Draco made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “I wouldn’t want you wandering too far off, so I suppose you can hold my hand a little,” he said, trying not to grin widely.

 

“Great!” Potter exclaimed, as he sorted through the mess of blankets and discarded clothes, “it’s a date.”

 

Once they were sorted, and after a few moments of leisurely snogging until Draco insisted they get moving before they got too distracted, Potter unzipped the tent and slipped out into the still, cool night. “It’s lovely out here,” he said softly and reached for Draco’s hand, to help him outside.

 

“No sentiment, please,” said Draco, but he didn’t let go, and they began to walk together, quietly, down the path.

 

“This isn’t bad, is it?” Potter asked, after a while and boldly laced his fingers with Draco’s.

 

Draco only squirmed for a moment before letting it be. “No, I suppose it isn--”

 

A guttural roar rolled over the calm night sky, followed by a piercing scream, that sounded much too close for comfort. Potter stopped immediately and began looking around, even though the night was so dark, it was almost impossible to see anything.

 

“What the fuck was--”

 

“RUN!” Potter suddenly yelled and gave Draco no time to react before he broke out into a sprint, tugging Draco along with him down the path.

 

“What did you see--”

 

“FUCKING RUN, DRACO!”

 

Draco ran.

\--- -- -- ---

Draco’s stomach rumbles, and he rubs a hand over his abdomen, as if that will do anything. He knows it isn’t fair to complain about how hungry he is -- there are people in the world who go much longer without food -- but he can’t help it. He risks a glance at Potter, who remains at the mouth, staring at nothing, and sighs gently. He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his head. He doesn’t want to see anything anymore.

 

“I think we should consider our options.”

 

Draco whips his head up again so fast his neck cracks to see Goldstein standing in the midst of the group. The prat has the nerve to look as unruffled as Blaise had, only Draco knows that Blaise is malicious where Goldstein is just pragmatic.

 

“And what _options_ are those?” spits Weasley. He rises from the rock, upsetting Granger from her perch at his side, and jerks his thumb towards Blaise. “You’re just as fucking bad as he is!”

 

“Ronald, please,” says Granger, obviously eager to keep the tension down.

 

“If one more fucking person suggests that we feed that fucking thing outside with one of us, I swear to God, I will throw him out there my fucking self!” Weasley swears and snarls like a thing possessed, then quickly closes the distance between himself and Goldstein. “Do I make myself clear?” he says quietly, right in Goldstein’s face, but Goldstein holds his ground.

 

“I understand that we’re all terribly frightened,” Goldstein begins, taking off his glasses and casually cleaning them on his tee-shirt, “but we simply cannot allow ourselves to stop thinking rationally. If we do, we’re no better than the monster out there.”

 

“NO ONE IS GETTING EATEN!” Weasley thunders and shoves Goldstein back.

 

Goldstein rubs a hand over his chest and frowns up at Weasley. “There’s no need to resort to violence, Ron,” he admonishes.

 

Weasley lets out a helpless laugh of disbelief. “ _No need to resort to violence_ ,” he mimicks, then jabs a finger into Goldstein’s chest, as if to illustrate his point. “You were the one who brought it up in the first place. So, are you volunteering then? Because if you’re keen on sacrifices, then you must be willing to put yourself out there? Money where your fucking mouth is, Goldstein!”

 

Draco can almost hear the room collectively hold its breath.

 

But, of course, Goldstein says nothing and just looks up at Weasley. Weasley’s laughter is almost hysterical now, as he jabs Goldstein again and then whirls on the rest of them. “I didn’t think so. Well, anyone else? Anyone else up for dinner tonight!” he calls, throwing his arms wide to encompass the lot. “Anyone? No one? _No one_!”

 

“That’s enough, Ron,” says Potter, from his perch on the rock. Potter doesn’t even look; he doesn’t have to, and Draco doesn’t either.

\--- -- -- ---

 

_Twenty-Four Hours Earlier_  


The cave was cramped and starting to smell. Draco wrinkled his nose against the stench and curled in on himself, trying to ignore the fifth argument that had broken in out as many hours. He honestly had no idea how long they had been there -- only that he was hungry and tired, and still very, very afraid.

 

“We need to do something. We can’t just sit here any longer, waiting for help that obviously isn’t coming!” said Daphne, flinging an arm towards the small cave opening where they had rolled stones to keep the Jabberwock from getting in.

 

“They have to know, and they have to be sending someone. There’s no way something like this could happen without someone in the preserve’s administration knowing about it,” answered Abbott. Longbottom went over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder and nodded his agreement.

 

“Are all Hufflepuffs really this bloody naive?” Daphne continued. “No one is coming! It’s been an entire bloody day and no one has come!”

 

“I have to agree with Daphne,” drawled Blaise. “Hufflepuffs really are that naive.”

 

“Oh, shut up, Blaise,” hissed Susan, folding her arms across her chest. “If it’s naive to hope, then fine, we’re naive.”

 

“It’s unhelpful, though,” Daphne answered. “We need to figure out a plan. We need to do something, we can’t just sit here waiting anymore!”

 

Draco stood up from a crouch and rubbed small circles into his cramped thighs. His stomach rumbled loudly and he grimaced, embarrassed even though all of them experienced the same thing since they’d arrived in the cave. If Daphne was right, and it had been a whole day since their midnight flight from the campground, then he hadn’t had something substantial to eat since dinner that evening -- and he’d more than worked off those calories with Potter’s vigorous appetite.

 

He frowned. There was no need to be thinking of that now. They had a crisis on their hands.

 

“I have an idea,” said Granger, suddenly, striding forward from the shadows and stepping between Daphne and Abbott. “Even though we don’t have our wands, it could be possible to send a Patronus or perhaps do a Summoning Charm to get them, if we attempt it wandlessly together. If we pool our magical reserve, it’s possible we can--”

 

“--not all of us can cast a Patronus,” said Daphne, flushing and looking away.

 

“”Certainly you can, it’s quite simple, we all learned to do it Fifth Year in…” Granger trailed off.

 

“So, a Summoning Charm then?” offered Turpin. “If we can’t all produce a Patronus, there’s no harm in trying to Summon our wands. We can then shield ourselves and make it a safe enough distance to Apparate to Hogsmeade.”

 

“Summoning long distance can be tricky,” said Goldstein, walking forward to stand at her side. He slipped his glasses from his face and polished the lenses on his jumper. “Perhaps what we should do is transfer as much of our magical energy to Harry as we can.”

 

“What do you mean by that?” asked Weasley. Draco wondered the same himself. He wondered why everything always came down to Potter.

 

“Harry is obviously the most powerful of all of us, and I’m quite certain that he can already do some wandless magic, am I right, Harry?”

 

Potter didn’t answer. Instead, he looked over at Draco, but Draco averted his eyes. He knew firsthand that Potter could perform some wandless magic, but Conjuring lubricant wasn’t exactly going to help them in this situation. What Draco also didn’t know was why his thoughts kept taking the turn towards the sexual. He supposed it was most likely just because he was scared and trying to cling to something familiar, but it was no less inappropriate.

 

A shiver wracked him, and he got up to leave his isolated corner. Potter tracked his movement across the cave, but Draco carefully avoided his eye. He wanted to join Potter on the rocky bench he sat on with Weasley, but he knew he didn’t belong there. Instead, he took a seat next to Susan, and he barely even flinched when she took his hand.

 

“If we all hold hands and transfer our magical energy to Harry, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that he might be able to Summon our wands, or at least one wand that he can use to erect a strong enough shield to save us,” Goldstein continued.

 

“No harm in trying,” Potter said and got to his feet. “What do we have to do?”

 

“It’s a fairly simple ritual,” Goldstein began and drew close to Potter. “We’ll form a circle and …”

 

Draco stopped listening. He squeezed Susan’s hand, almost unconsciously, and she turned to him. “It’ll be all right, Draco,” she said, in her disgustingly hopeful way. “It’ll work. Harry’s always been strong, and if we give him our magic, we’ll get out of here.”

 

“I suppose we’ll see,” Draco answered. He turned his gaze on Potter again, and Potter met his eyes, steely, determined.

\--- -- -- ---

“Harry, _please_ ,” Granger begs, “you can’t! We will figure out another way!” She rushes to Potter’s rock and kneels before him. “We can all do it together and make a run for it or--”

 

“--Hermione, it’s all right,” Potter says, cutting her off gently. “I know what I’m doing.”

 

“Then do it,” calls Blaise, but his words lack his earlier bite. He’s afraid now, as he should be. He darts a glance at Weasley, expecting a response, and braces himself.

 

The fight seems to have gone out of Weasley though, as he says nothing. Instead, he just walks over, straight-backed and stiff with defiance, and tugs Potter off the rock. They regard each other for a long moment, and then Weasley pulls Potter into a tight hug. “Fuck you, you unbelievable bastard,” he says, just loud enough that Draco can hear it from where he sits.

 

Potter pulls back, chuckling. “Jog on, git,” he says, and Draco feels sick to his stomach for reasons that have nothing to do with the gnawing hunger. None of this is funny. None of it is amusing or light, and he hates Potter for walking towards death with a goddamn smile on his face.

 

“What is it they say? ‘Third time’s a charm?’” Potter continues, as he tugs Granger to standing. All three of them wrap in a tight embrace, and Draco wants to scream with the same fury that seems to have infected the beast out there.

 

As if it knows that it’ll be fed soon, the creature growls four times in quick succession, and it sounds so much like laughter that the hairs on the back of Draco’s neck stand on end.

 

“Oh, God, Harry,” says Granger, muffled as she is by the two men’s arms around her, and Draco sees her beginning to shake with the sobs she’s managed to hold back all this time. Potter and Weasley exchange a meaningful look over her head.

 

Draco then closes his eyes and steadfastly refuses to watch. If no one else is going to object, including Potter’s nearest and dearest, then who is he to say anything?

\--- -- -- ---

 

_Twelve Hours Earlier_  


Draco woke from a fitful sleep. He felt alert for only the briefest moment before drowsiness threatened to pull him under again. The drain on his magic combined with the lack of food left him lethargic. Fingers suddenly threaded into his hair, and he smiled sleepily. “Hmm?”

 

“How are you feeling?” Susan whispered, letting her fingers trail down to his chin. “You’ve been out a really long time. Longer than everyone else.”

 

Disappointed for reasons he couldn’t name, Draco forced himself to sit up. “How long?”

 

“Not sure exactly, but long enough,” said Abbott, joining them at the bench.

 

“Did it … well, you know…” He knew, though, that even if the ritual had worked, they most likely would be safe by now, if Potter had been able to gather enough energy to Summon a wand. He honestly didn’t even know why he bothered to ask.

 

Longbottom appeared behind Abbott and slipped his arms around her waist. “Harry said he felt like something was on its way to him, but the connection was abruptly … severed,” he answered, looking away toward the mouth of the cave.

 

Draco shivered again, and Susan tugged him gently against her chest. He remained there only for a moment, until he realized it didn’t feel right -- slightly comforting perhaps, but not right. “So what now?” he asked, attempting to straighten his tattered tee-shirt. “What are we going to do now?”

 

“They’re talking it through,” said Abbott, indicating the small group near the cave mouth, comprised of Potter, Weasley, Granger, Turpin and Goldstein.

 

Potter chose that moment to shake his head and walk away from the group. “Hermione ought to have been a Ravenclaw, I swear,” he said, as he flopped down on the bench next to Susan, chuckling lightly. “Add in Ron’s strategizing, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve really only gotten by all these years because of their brains and my dumb luck.”

 

“We’ve all been saying that for years, Potter,” Draco said, unable to help himself. He couldn’t muster the normal disdain, however, and he realized it sounded more sad than anything else. He ducked his head, embarrassed.

 

“I don’t know how you can laugh, Harry,” said Longbottom. “What the hell are we going to do now? I don’t think any of us has the energy to try that again.”

 

“We should have had you cast a Patronus instead,” said Abbott. “We could have warned someone!”

 

“I wouldn’t have been able to produce a Patronus wandlessly, even with all your help,” Potter assured them. “It takes too much, and,” he laughed bitterly, “I’m not exactly feeling my happiest right now.”

 

“None of us are, but we really should have tried. It would have been a better chance.”

 

Draco narrowed his eyes at Longbottom. “Stuff it, you absolute pillock. Is it a Gryffindor thing to always state the bloody obvious, or is it just you?” he sneered. For the briefest moment, he actually felt like his old self again. Longbottom always brought it out of him, and Draco imagined that he always would.

 

“No need for all that, Malfoy,” said Potter. “We’re all in this together, and we might as well just try and get along, hm?” He leaned across Susan and Draco’s breath caught in his throat at the blazing determination in his eyes. “Can you do that, Malfoy? Can you get along?”

 

Cowed and feeling quite small, Draco looked down at the ground. “Yes, I can.” 

 

He gasped, then, when Potter reached across and set his hand on Draco’s knee. “Thank you.”

 

Draco wrenched himself from Potter’s grip and stalked over to where Blaise and Daphne were seated along the cave wall.

\--- -- -- ---

Unable to help himself, Draco sneaks a glance and then watches with disgust as Daphne slings her arms around Potter’s neck for a desperate hug. Potter, for his part, indulges her, rubbing a soothing circle on her back and muttering something only she can hear. It’s ridiculous; Draco is certain that Daphne has never even had a conversation with Potter, so why the hell is she so upset? When he’s gone, her life will remain exactly as it always was. She has no reason to cry.

 

He swallows hard against the lump that’s formed in his throat and ducks his head again, just listening to the sounds of grief around him. And when a shadow falls over him, he keeps his head down because he doesn’t need to see it. He won’t look up. 

 

Draco hears an exasperated sigh, and then Potter drops down and sits at his side, just near enough that their shoulders touch. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye, Ferret?” he asks, but his tone is disgustingly fond, and for a brief moment, Draco hates him. Because he cannot be like Weasley -- he cannot joke about this or say funny things or pretend that the weight of what’s happening here isn’t slowly and painfully crushing him into nothing. Draco is not, and never has been, Potter’s friend.

 

“Are you sure there’s no other way?” he asks, plaintively, and his voice barely registers. He winces to himself, but still won’t look up.

 

Potter lays a hand on Draco’s pulled-up knee, tugs briefly trying to get Draco to look at him and whispers, “I suspect if there was another way, we’d have figured it out by now. There’s no lack of brain-power here … just no more options.”

 

“But it doesn’t have to be you!” Draco yells, shoving out and clambering to his feet. He starts to walk away, but there really isn’t anywhere else to go, so he whirls around on Potter again. “You don’t always have to save everyone! Just because you did it a few times before doesn’t mean that it’s your life’s duty to protect everyone from every fucking big bad thing out there!”

 

The beast howls, resonating and strong, and the cave trembles. Draco moans and drops to a crouch, covering his face with his hands.

 

Potter’s on him again immediately, and Draco lets go, allowing Potter to pull him to standing. Potter grips him by the upper-arms and, impossibly still, smiles. “I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to, alright? If I can do this for you, for all of you, then I know I’m going to be okay,” he urges, easing his grip when Draco doesn’t fight. “And so will you.”

 

“It’s just so unfair,” Draco exhales and allows himself to be drawn closer. His hands slip around Potter’s waist, and his flash of anger fades quickly. He’s just too tired to dredge up any more indignation. Potter seems resigned, and so Draco will be resigned also.

 

“Tell you what,” Potter then says, after a long moment, “in the next life, I promise to shake your hand.”

 

Draco doesn’t care who’s watching because it’s obvious that this really is the last time. He looks into Potter’s eyes for just a moment, then leans forward and kisses him.

\--- -- -- ---

 

_Six Hours Earlier_  


Draco rubbed at his temples, trying to make the blinding headache that had settled behind his eyes go away, but it was of no use. He hadn’t eaten in too long, hadn’t slept well in nearly as much time and had drained himself of much of his energy through the transfer to Potter. He felt sick and weak, and he ached to return home -- not to the campground or to Hogwarts, but home to the Manor where his mother waited for him. Sighing fiercely, he stretched out his legs in front of him and reached forward to try to touch his toes.

 

“Calisthenics?”

 

“Leave me alone, Potter,” Draco spat, but the words lacked any venom, and Draco just knew it was because he simply had nothing left. While the contempt he’d always felt for Potter had melted away over the course of the year since their sexual relationship had begun, the fact that Potter annoyed him and made him angry or jealous or mean had never really gone away. Their interactions would always be slightly contentious, even when they were at their happiest -- as if they ever could be happy together.

 

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” said Potter, as he plopped down next to Draco on the ground.

 

“May I remind you that you can’t always get what you want?”

 

Potter snickered. “Yes, yes, so you’ve said, but I’m choosing to ignore it,” he replied, nudging against Draco’s shoulder. “We might not have a whole lot of time left.”

 

“Don’t fucking joke about it!” Draco hissed.

 

“Who’s joking?” Potter asked, more seriously than Draco had ever heard him. It gave him pause. “You’ve heard them all for the last few days. We’re running out of time and options. Draco,” Potter paused and the weight of his gaze finally made Draco turn his head to face him, “this really might be it.”

 

“We’ll figure something out,” Draco finally said, voice barely above a whisper. “There must be something we haven’t thought of yet.”

 

“Then, let’s figure it out together,” Potter said and reached for Draco’s elbow. “I’m sure we can figure this out together.”

 

“I’m not the one you want for this, Potty,” Draco snapped and wrenched himself to his feet, out of Potter’s grip. “My plan is always to run away.”

 

“That’s not true,” said Potter. He used the cave wall to lever himself up and strode quickly towards Draco, but Draco stepped back and out of his grip once more. He didn’t know what Potter was playing at, trying to be so obvious in front of his friends. They were going to suspect something if Potter wasn’t careful. “That isn’t true, and I think you know it,” Potter continued, voice low and rough, so that Draco almost had to lean in to hear him.

 

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, then, as he turned again and started for the other side of the cave. “Not when it’s my choice, Potter. When it’s my choice, I’ll always run away,” Draco said sadly and practically threw himself down on the ground again. He hoped it conveyed the finality he meant it to because he was done talking to Potter. Not out here. Not where everyone could see … and judge.

 

Potter looked like he wanted to reply, but before he could, Goldstein strode toward the middle of the cave, capturing everyone’s attention. “I have something to say,” the Ravenclaw said.

 

“Unless it’s a plan, none of us wants to hear it,” Blaise called, before shifting in his seat and laying his head down on Daphne’s shoulder.

 

“I believe it is a plan, yes,” Goldstein answered. “I believe it’s a fairly good plan, actually, although I don’t know if--”

 

“--just get on with it, you bloody, buggering windbag!” Blaise interrupted.

 

“Sod off, Zabini!” Weasley spat. “Go on, Tony, what’s your plan?”

 

“I think the problem is that we’ve been ignoring the material facts of our situation,” said Goldstein purposefully. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We know what it is out there after us. We know what it eats and what will happen when it’s finally sated. We know all of these facts, and therefore, we need to come to a conclusion based solely upon these facts, if we have any hope to survive.”

 

Granger narrowed her eyes. “You’re not suggesting--”

 

“--I’m suggesting,” he interrupted, “that we do what we know will give us the time we need to return to safety.” Goldstein glanced at everyone in turn, then cast his eyes downward, as if he knew just exactly how well his suggestion would be received. “We _have_ to feed the beast.”

 

Granger gasped, but the others managed to hold their tongues, whether by sheer force of will or because they didn’t understand. Draco watched all of them in turn, catching as understanding dawned in their eyes. He then closed his eyes, not wanting to see it anymore. It was an incredibly stupid idea, and he couldn’t believe that Goldstein would dare suggest something so vulgar.

 

The Jabberwock roared then, loud and long, and Draco flinched. One by one, they all found their spots around the cave again. Goldstein glanced around the cave, sighed loudly, and returned to his seat next to Turpin. There would clearly be no more talk. The idea wasn’t even one to consider.

\--- -- -- ---

The kiss tastes unusual, salty and slick, and Draco realizes that he’s crying openly. Potter pulls back then, just so, and whispers against Draco’s lips, “[Please don’t cry](http://anemonen.livejournal.com/49778.html). Maybe I really will get lucky out there again.” He smiles, and Draco absolutely cannot believe how fucking good a person Harry Potter is.

 

“I will never understand you,” Draco replies, then presses his lips against Potter’s once more, hard and almost bruising. When he pulls back again, Draco just looks into Potter’s deep green eyes. He takes a moment and he _sees_. 

 

And he makes a choice.

 

Draco knows that the reason Potter managed to survive the killing curse twice over is not Potter’s innate magical power or his stubborn-headed Gryffindor sensibilities, but rather his ability to love and be loved with his entire being. He also knows that Potter will keep giving and giving of himself until there’s literally nothing left anymore. Potter will sacrifice himself a hundred times as long as there’s someone out there who needs saving, no matter who that someone is -- unless it’s himself; because Harry Potter can’t save Harry Potter. 

 

“I’ll watch you,” Draco then continues and glances upward. He’s never really believed in heaven, but if there’s any time to start, it’s now.

 

Potter’s brow wrinkles in confusion, until he realizes the implication. “No … no, Draco--”

 

Draco draws back his fist and lands a punch right in Potter’s face. And yet, he’s not sure how he even manages to hit Potter, since his nerves are completely shot, but as Potter staggers back against the cave wall clutching his nose, Draco takes the moment of confusion to rush past towards the mouth of the cave. “Be well, Harry,” he whispers, as he rolls a rock out of the way and begins crawling through the small opening.

 

He hears shouts of ‘Malfoy, no!’ and ‘Draco!,’ agonized screams torn from the throats of his friends and rivals. The way to the outside is narrow, and terror prickles under his skin. Claustrophobia overwhelms, and he’s certain he’ll never breathe easy again, until he finally pushes out into the night air. He allows himself one small moment of relief and triumph before he remembers who he is.

 

He faces away when he reaches the outside, too much a coward to look, as he hears the beast tramping up behind him. He trembles visibly and longs to run back inside to safety, but manages to hold his ground. For once in his life he will do something wholly selfless.

 

Draco winces, as he hears the creature snarl and snap its jaw. He feels its hot breath on the back of his neck. He closes his eyes and braces himself.

 

Then he hears nothing.

(please return to [livejournal](http://hp-darkarts.livejournal.com/79142.html) to comment or comment in both places)


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